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A Colossal Lie

"Shadow of the Colossus (Fan Art)" |
Art by
Lionsketch. Used with permission.

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Standing tall on the titanic body of my fallen foe, I should feel like a hero, but the victory seems hollow. There’s no majestic fanfare to accompany my achievement, just a slow, melodious dirge; it reminds me that a beautiful creature has just breathed its last.

“The price you pay may be heavy indeed,” a mysterious, disembodied voice had warned me, before I set out on my quest.

“It doesn’t matter,” I had answered.

Suddenly, those three words seem less noble than I had originally perceived, and are flavoured by cold, hard desperation.

Before I can truly process the barrage of conflicting emotions, I’m swarmed by black tendrils emanating from the colossus carcass. I fall to my knees, collapsing, unconscious, onto the giant’s body. In this moment, long before I ever slay my second, fifth, tenth, sixteenth colossus, I realize the truth: I’m slowly killing myself.

Much like a Shakespearean tragedy, Shadow of the Colossus is a game about the darkness of human nature—how hopelessness leads to desperation, and desperation to self-destruction. And it all begins the way most doomed quests do: with a lie.

Wander, the game’s protagonist, is bound by hopelessness—not a “there’s nothing I can do” sort of hopelessness, but something even worse: the “I have no choice” kind. Not content with allowing an innocent maiden to die, Wander chooses to go against nature and tries to restore her soul. Killing 16 colossi is the only way to achieve that goal, he’s told, so that’s what he does. In his vulnerability, he is desperate enough to play the fool and believe this colossal lie.

No excuse can erase the smallest twinge of guilt I feel each time a colossus cries out in pain and bites the dust.

When I play Shadow of the Colossus, I feel Wander’s darkening nature reflected through every aspect of the game, especially the environment. The land of the colossi acts as a metaphor for Wander’s innermost soul—empty, isolated, and depressed—a forbidden place where things are locked away from the outside world and left to die. Aside from calling for his horse, Wander never speaks, making those long rides across the wasteland moments for the player’s self-reflection.

During these periods of silence, Wander seems especially caged within his mind—so set on a false reality that he can’t envision alternatives. I’ve yet to play a game that more accurately captures the sense of loneliness and depression that a human heart can feel when burdened by hopelessness.

As a player, I am forced to buy into Wander’s lie, not only because the game’s narrative compels me to do so in order to progress, but because it’s the only way I can psychologically justify my actions within the game.

“I have no choice,” I repeat to myself, as another colossus flails to the ground. It’s a part of the game’s mechanics. It’s necessary for the story. But try as I might, no excuse can erase the smallest twinge of guilt I feel each time a colossus cries out in pain and bites the dust.

Battling a colossus is an emotional and intimate experience. I can’t jump into the fray swinging my sword at the enemy and expect damage to be dealt. I have to climb all over the creature, feeling each muscle and tendon roll with life beneath me as I search for its vital spots. I have to observe its movements, memorize its habits and quirks, and decipher which sectors of its massive frame are penetrable. I become personally familiar with the colossus, and then convince myself to slay it.

As colossi begin to take on familiar shapes—humans, birds, lions, even horses (a haunting echo of the only companion I have within the game)—the experience becomes unnerving. Once I commit to taking down the magnificent monsters, though, the game ensures that I am merciless in my attacks, as even the slightest hesitation leads to being flung loose from my grip on the colossus’ head or back.

Each action has a permanent consequence, and the game mocks the player with reminders. At any time, I can return to the site of a battle and see the blackened forms of the fallen colossi. When they’re out of my direct sight, beams of light mark their fallen souls, visible from any distance on the horizon. The only un-skippable cutscenes in the game mark points of no return—when colossi are slain and when Wander’s faithful steed falls to its doom.

I’ve yet to play a game that more accurately captures the sense of loneliness and depression that a human heart can feel when burdened by hopelessness.

That’s the consequence of believing the lie: Wander must sacrifice everything in order to fulfill it—his stallion, his soul, his connection with his people, and his precious relationship with the maiden herself. He’s so focused on saving her that he loses sight of her in the process.

In my first playthrough, I didn’t realize how filthy Wander had become until near the end of the game, when his skin grew so pale and his clothes so ragged that I could no longer question the morality of his actions. But by this point, there was no turning back—for him or for me.

But perhaps that’s Shadow of the Colossus’ biggest lie—something I didn’t realize until my second or third playthrough: up until the final battle, it’s never too late to turn back. I have the power to walk away from any fight at any time. I can explore the realm of the Colossi as long as I like without ever having to draw my blade. I can choose to be merciful by not engaging these titans at all, but doing so means I will never complete the game or play it as the developers intended. Shadow of the Colossus is a fatalist game through-and-through, and one that uses narrative punishment as the reward for progressing.

Shadow of the Colossus tempts players with a power fantasy—dare to travel to a forbidden world, take on mythical giants, be the hero, save the damsel in distress—but snatches it away with each victory. Even during the most frustrating of colossi battles, the temporary relief of having won is quickly overshadowed by the numbing funeral dirge and the death throes of the colossus.

By the time I reached the game’s credits, I was not sure what to think. I knew I’d just played a groundbreaking work of art—an experience I was utterly grateful for—and yet Shadow of the Colossus left me feeling betrayed by my emotions, by the character’s actions, and by the game itself. In my opinion, more games should be like Shadow of the Colossus—asking hard questions about the consequences of violence, and the power that truth and lies hold over us—but even more games should offer alternatives to linear brutality, rewarding players for recognizing the lies but choosing to act on the truth in the midst of them.

An INTJ and self-proclaimed connoisseur of chocolate, tea, and sushi, Casey spends her free time cosplaying, writing, gaming, philosophizing, editing articles for Geeks Under Grace, squinting at strange words, and watching Corgi videos on the internet.

You could always scale Dormin’s Shrine and try to leave, but one difficult climb and about eight and a half minutes of walking will reveal a powerful gale that keeps in all who wandered into the valley. Another long slog (or significantly shorter jump) later, it’s back to the worst honeymoon ever.

While it becomes pretty evident that no good can come of listening to Dormin’s guidance, it takes us on a fascinating study of what a boss fight should be: a puzzle to be solved. While games like Zelda and Final Fantasy do this and have the benefit of enemies to help teach the player before their grand encounter, Shadow of the Colossus tasks the player with trial by fire. Wander possesses all the actions and equipment he’ll need to tackle each giant in turn. No stores to buy from, no chests to open, nothing but your sword, your bow and your trusty steed to assist you in attacking, evading and observing your opponents.

It’s the care going into these boss fights that made it such a fascinating game to research. 48 Colossi envisioned, cut down to 24 and finally 16. To read about the eight that couldn’t be realized brought to light things that I had wondered about while I explored the valley while hunting fruits and lizards to improve my vitality. A curious, unnatural rock formation that rests in the southern expanse was no more than home to a shining lizard now, but was intended to be a tool for use in battle with another beast colossus. While this would have given the player another chance to battle atop Agro, there were problems in ironing out the final phases of the battle and so “Sirius” had to be cut. Seven more like him, seven more tales of unfortunately unrealized visions.

…not that I particularly minded having less to fight in the Hard Mode Time Trials. I’ll be fine if I never have to beat the third like that again.

Casey Covel

I have nothing more to add. You’ve summed it up very well indeed.

It’s a shame that so many colossi had to be cut, but like you said, it makes exploring the realm of the colossi all the more insightful. Maybe someday we’ll get a director’s cut of sorts that includes these missing boss battles. Puzzle-solving is often restrained to “dungeons” and side-quests in gaming, so I certainly agree that Colossus did something refreshing with the formula in applying it to their boss battles. Then, once you’ve mastered the “how,” it becomes a battle of “how fast” and “how efficient.” That’s where the time trials come in.

I agree. Number 3 is a fight I’ll gladly postpone 😉

Kaitlin

I’ve never played Shadow of the Colossus, but it sounds impressive. And harrowing. Your last paragraph did make me think of a different game, one which I really love: Undertale. It clearly depicts the consequences of violence, but it also paints a picture of the results of loving your enemies and forgiving the ones who hurt you. At the start of the game you are told, “In this world, it’s kill or be killed.” But you still have the choice. Will you adhere to that philosophy, or trade violence and power for love and compassion?

I highly recommend Undertale to anyone who hasn’t played it.

Casey Covel

So glad you brought up Undertale! On a philosophical level, I feel that Undertale is the appropriate answer to a game like Colossus, and perhaps was even inspired by it on a moral level–offering the player a choice in the narrative and not forcing them to make poor decisions for the sake of the story. Excellent recommendation.

I’d like to see a future in gaming where players are rewarded for critical thinking, not just competency with a controller or keyboard. A generation of games where making moral or logical actions, and being appropriately rewarded or reciprocated for them, may be financially unrealistic from a developmental standpoint, but I believe it could revolutionize the way games are perceived socially.

At the same time, from a narrative standpoint, I believe that games like Colossus are invaluable. It’s important to experience those Shakespearean tragedies because we’re a culture that learns by example and experimentation. Games like Colossus allow us to act on power fantasies in a safe and experimental environment, and hopefully learn a thing or two about our own natures in the process. It’s a game I find myself turning to on an annual basis.

Victor Valle

Amazing text Casey.

I almost dropped a tear by imagining the sensation, the loneliness, the way to the final tower.

There was only one time i laugh a lot in the game: I was facing Celosia (the 11th) and had my torch up, trying to intimidate the tiny colossus.
My whole family was watching the game in the living room while O was screaming excited “i got it! I got it! He’s afraid of fire!!!” Then suddenly hi hits the torch with his pawn like “take this thing out of my sight” and my whole family cracked up laughing so hard. It was a very good memory

Casey Covel

It took a lot
for me to press through the game, personally. Killing the colossi never
felt right to me, and I had to separate myself from my character in
order to justify it and try to look at the game as a whole as a work of
art with an important narrative to tell. My
sympathy definitely went toward the colossi and not the maiden, ironic as that is.

Victor, that story gave me a little laugh, too. I remember having a lot of trouble with that one until I realized his weakness. Some of the colossi have a TON of personality. When it comes to the forefront, it can often make the experience all the more unsettling, though.

Aequitas2015

A similar thing happened to Anakin Skywalker. He got so fixated on the nightmare of losing his wife that he sacrificed everything- his friends, his soul, his career, even his family- to prevent it.

Unlike Wander in Shadow of the Colossus, though, Anakin lost her anyway.

Casey Covel

Anakin is another solid example of this line of thinking and the damage that can ultimately come from it. I think any time that we convince ourselves we have no choice, we are telling ourselves a dangerous lie because there are always other options–including the option to say “no.”

In Anakin’s situation, he also had the option of saying “no” and allowing things to take their natural course. In “interfering” with this natural course of action, he created an unnatural chain of events, whereby–some might argue–his qualification as the chosen one was dismantled. Then again, Starwars is very much a fatalist’s franchise, where all has been predestined and what will be, shall be, so perhaps Anakin simply played into the hands of fate, as he was meant to. Good came from bad, ultimately, and like Wander, his is a story of redemption.

In Wander’s case though, he does “lose” the maiden. It’s never totally clear how they are connected, though the theory that they are romantically involved is the most popular. But she could also be a family member, a friend, or simply someone whom he felt was unjustly treated and thus became compelled to action. Whatever the situation, if the two of them were lovers of some sort, he does lose her. His transformation guarantees that the relationship they once had is shattered. He obviously cannot marry her, and by the time he’s come of age, she’ll be significantly older than him. Ultimately, Wander is shown mercy and given a second chance, but at a significant cost. He’s given a do-over, in a way, but at the same time forced to give up everything he knew and loved in the previous life he was meant to have.

Summer

Coincidentally you posted this right after I had completed the game!

I remember feeling very frustrated as I tried to climb each colossi with the heroic music playing in the background. I always got a sense of excitement right before the final stab, but then…

The silence as you plunge the sword for the final time into the colossi’s head, slow motion, no music. Then hearing the beast groan in pain, and watching the massive, majestic creature crumple slowly to the ground. The music is then different; no trumpets of victory, just a sad, slow melody as the creature dies. Every time, I would feel a twinge of guilt.

I mean, from the beginning I could tell that what Wander was doing was wrong, trying to bring the girl back to life by sacrificing 16 beautiful (maybe even intelligent) creatures.

But, I did like the ending. The last scene where we see that Wander’s become an infant- -it reminded me of being born again and being clean of our sins. It just gave this shaft of light throughout the heaviness of the game.

Casey Covel

Your descriptions definitely ring true with me. My feelings are identical. Colossus is able to do a tremendous amount with its soundtrack–something key to the emotional experience, as there is very little dialogue to be heard. Scaling the colossi in the midst of that pulse-pounding music nearly convinces you that you’re the hero, but the crashing of the colossi during the somber “victory” music definitely hints that your actions within the game are wrong.

And you’re right: ultimately it is a story about redemption. Wander is given a second chance, though he still loses everything (except his horse) from his previous life. Even his relationship with the maiden is drastically altered, as the two can no longer be lovers (fan theory) and she must now raise him like a mother. If you read into Colossus’ connection with the game ICO, the story becomes even more tragic, as Wander becomes the first in a line of cursed children, sacrificed to a castle in the mist, governed by a mysterious women (who many believe is the maiden in Colossus).

In either case, it is a redemption story, and the soundtrack ends on a high note–one not dampened by sadness, but hesitantly victorious with hope. Wander is literally “born again,” a literal Christian allusion, and hopefully able to atone for the wrongs he has done in his next lifetime. In many ways, there are certain parallels to the Fall of Man in the Garden of Eden as well, as Wander goes into a forbidden land and does forbidden things, resulting in his being permanently “cursed” with horns and being the ancestor of the future “horned children” (as seen in ICO), never allowed to return to the land of his people.

Great thoughts! I’m glad you were able to play the game and get insight into it! Thank you for reading 🙂

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